Shot in the Dark
by Cashmere67
Summary: "Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings - always darker, emptier and simpler."
1. Power Play: Part One

**Head Gamemaker Arevan**

* * *

It was a stormy night in the forest of District Seven.

Apparently, we had a little… mishap, if you will, with the governor. To keep it short, he wasn't too content with how the new President was running things, and to show his opposition, began to train a few of teenagers who showed potential.

Well, we couldn't have that, could we? Trained tributes from Seven?

No, we could not. That would disrupt the Hunger Games altogether; Careers would fall, outers would win, and the influence of the victors would shift. So, to reprimand this man, we dealt with him accordingly.

Besides, he had it coming all along. The Capitol takes the training of tributes very seriously, and if District Seven were to think that they could simply train teenagers for the Games, then they were mistaken. Very, very mistaken.

As we finished up the job, I paused, taking in my surroundings. Perhaps it was the crisp air, a certain cent of pine in it, that made me adore this place. As the Peacekeepers passed me, the governor with a bag around his head, I was inspired, if you will. I was inspired to do something more with my life.

Inspired to become the Gamemaker. Not just any Gamemaker, but the _Head_ Gamemaker.

It was easy, if I may say so myself. President Snow was recently inaugurated into presidency, overseeing the whole mission with the District Seven governor. President Snow personally asked for us to take care of him. He gave us full authority over how we wanted to take control of it, and so I offered to be the second-in-command.

Being one of the leading Peacekeepers just wasn't enough for me after that. Sure, controlling a massive army of brave men who are dedicated to their country was thrilling, but I wanted more. I didn't get it at first, but after a while, President Snow warmed up to the idea of letting me be the Head Gamemaker.

Although it wasn't my purpose, President Snow's had an intention with placing the role upon me. I wouldn't just be a Head Peacekeeper anymore, I'd be more than that. By being the Head Gamemaker, it would instill new fear into the Districts. There's always this stereotype with Peacekeepers – cruel, insensitive, brute – and if the Districts believe it, I have to play the part. I'm here for my country, not for person gain or for personal satisfaction.

By taking the role of Head Peacekeeper, I dedicated my life to Panem. To protect, preserve, and unite Panem.

And now, as a Head Gamemaker, I can do that. I will run the Games this year, and with the help of other Gamemakers, we can prove to the Districts that the Capitol shouldn't be something to mess around with.

A Head Peacekeeper as a Head Gamemaker. It has a sense of ominous quality, does it not?

They all think I'll do some training-facility arena. Or maybe a battlefield, or a bombed city, or even an over-sized hovercraft. No, no, those are too trite. Too similar to past arenas.

For this year, I'll go back to my roots. To what inspired me to become a Head Gamemaker in the first place – the day when I was in District Seven. It was a stormy night, with thunder clapping above and lightning coming down right before my eyes. The way the fog seeped throughout the tree-line, the darkness around me seeming like an arena itself.

That is what inspired me.

New year, new Gamemaker, new arena. All up to me.

Perhaps there's an underlying reason for all of this. To show that a governor from District Seven cannot get away with treating the Capitol like that. By disobeying the law, to completely go against what was ordained by the President himself. The laws are a way for a reason.

They aren't meant to be messed with. And, if someone takes the risk of opposing the Capitol, they will pay the price. They will pay the price just like the rebels all that time ago did.

Anyone who opposes the Capitol will regret it. It's as simple as that.

I'm not here to prove that I'm going to be the best Gamemaker. That I'll be the one who will steal the limelight, go down in history, or prove some overarching purpose. No… I'll save that for someone else. Another Gamemaker in ten years can get the simple satisfaction of the esteemed reputation as Head Gamemaker.

Me? I want to stay true to my country. To stay true to Panem.

The Capitol has made me the person I am today; disciplined, head-strong, and astute. I was trained to protect the nation, to go to any means necessary to ensure its preservation and to ensure its safety. And if it means becoming a Head Gamemaker, so be it.

I'm here to protect my country.

The country that has raised me.

The country that I will go down fighting for.

Not just as a Head Peacekeeper anymore, I am now something much bigger than that. I am the Head Gamemaker.

And as that role, I pledge my allegiance to the Capitol.

Not just to the Capitol, but to Panem.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Well, hello, again. As you can see, I'm onto another SYOT.

This time – Shot in the Dark.

Regarding submissions, the form is on my profile. I am not taking any reservations necessarily, but the quicker you send in the tribute, the better. Once I get a tribute that I'll be set on having, I'll close that spot off, and then let the others open. Sort of like first-come, first serve, but if I really don't know about a tribute, I'll wait until I get another one for that spot.

I think that makes sense. Just send in your tributes and I'll let you know if I'll accept it. (I accept most, honestly. It's not a big deal at all.) Also, I'll keep the closed-off spots on my profile so that everyone knows what's available and what's not.

I think that's it for a Prologue. Oh, except that with this SYOT, I'll be doing the format differently. I won't explain all of it, but one thing that will be different is that I'll have two-parts of a Prologue for this story.

This was just an introduction and opening, and the next will be with a blog and whatnot.

Okay, now I'm done.

Cashmere67 out.


	2. Power Play: Part Two

**Varinia  
25 Years Old  
Avox.**

* * *

"Who wants to go first?"

The kids hands shoot up, all of them shifting on top of their pillows, all wanting to start this… to start this game. Or, at least, that's they call it. Some game to entertain themselves, to make themselves laugh, to put a smile on each other's faces.

It's just some game.

But, to me… it's awful. It's a mockery of the Games, disrespecting them altogether. If it were up to me, I would never let these kids engage in this activity. I would tell them 'no', which is something they don't hear too often, I just don't have a say, though.

I never really did have a say.

Even if I did, I'd have to keep quiet. Or else I'd end up like this again.

The blonde girl, one of the Gamemaker's daughters, stands up, her hand raised the highest. As she stands over all of the rest, they lower their hands, letting this one take the stage.

Letting this one start this game.

This charade.

The girl dips her hand into the bowl, rummaging her hand around in it. She grabs a card, holding it close enough to her face for only her to see. As she opens the card, she resembles an escort about to reap a tribute. But, in this charade, she's picking a mentor's name.

A mentor's name to reenact. To act out, to let the others guess who they think it is.

This is their game.

Some demonstration of what they know about the mentors and how they perceive them.

The girl folds the card back, slipping it into her pocket. She pauses for a moment, and as she angles her elbow, she brings her hand to her forward. She looks like she's supposed to be saluting something, and as the other kids call out incorrect answers, she tries again.

It's the same thing over and over again.

The same interpretation of the mentors. All the same gestures to represent the victors.

"Radiance!" A boy calls out, while another calls out, "Nora!"

For her next movement, she gestures to her stomach. She makes a bubble-type gesture around her stomach, and from what it looks like, she's trying to look like she's pregnant. A victor who is a mother.

"Nashira!" Another girl calls out, this one with brown hair. I never thought it was necessary to learn all of their names.

They all treat me the same.

Now that it's the brown-haired girl's turn, she stands up, drawing a card of her own from the bowl. She picks her card, and immediately begins to feign crying. She rubs under her eyes, sulking her head forward, and then curls up into a ball on the ground. On the ground, she pretends to stop breathing, acting as if she's dead.

An emotional victor. One who cried a lot. One that is now dead.

"Wiress!" Another boy calls out, making them all laugh together. A few more names are called out, but I catch onto one that calls out "Paisley!"

There's a pause, and then one of the older boys stand up, who has to be nearly sixteen by now. He's one of the President's personal bodyguard's sons. With confidence, he states, "Lichen."

Looks like he was right.

The boy stands up, broadening his shoulders already. He's always a rule-breaker, never picking a card from the bowl. If he's anything like his father, than I pity the President if anything. The boy stands there, and swiftly, begins to shake violently. With his right hand, he holds up six fingers, which is supposed to represent something.

Only if I could help them out. But, no. I can't do that.

The boy falls to the ground, still shaking violently. This one apparently has stumped the kids, none of them calling out any names. Then, after another quiet pause, the youngest boy, who can only be about eight, calls out a name.

"Beetee!"

The Peacekeeper's boy stands up, grimacing a little, as if he should kept it going. Glancing at the clock, I see that the kids are going off to the lunch in a few minutes, and I repress a sigh that tries to escape.

I'm nearly there.

Just a few more minutes with these… with these _children_.

The young boy takes a card from the bowl, reading it quickly even before I try to get a glance at it. In a quick movement, he leaps onto the couch, beginning to punch at the pillows on it. He throws the pillow on the ground, leaping right on top of it, giving it a little stomp.

He continues to throw his little body around the room, knocking over pillows and cushions from here and there. He's acting like some animal, some barbaric and wild victor.

"A monkey!" One girl says with a laugh, and I can only imagine where the kids will take this one.

"Chaff!" The Peacekeeper's boy calls out, referencing to Chaff's skin-tone.

It's just awful.

There's nothing else to call this.

As the little boy leaps again, he knocks over a lamp, the sound of glass crashing onto the ground making the kids go silent. One of them finally get it, saying that it's Vanora. The kids all crawl away from the broken glass, the light now in pieces on the ground.

Here is where I get to play my part.

As maid, as servant, as baby-sitter.

Do you think they could guess this too? Probably not.

The kids all go quiet, not saying anything except for a few whispers. The boy who knocked it over doesn't even look remotely guilty, and as I walk over to it to clean it up, he smirks. Realizing who I'm dealing with, I bow a little, not letting any expression slip onto my face.

It's just what I have to do.

He rolls his eyes, walking right back over to his friends. As I bend down and begin to clean it up, I block the sounds of the kids incessant babbling and giggling out, not realizing that by the time I look up, they're all gone. They all left to have lunch now.

As I look around the room, I see the bowl in the center of it, victor's names filled into it.

Every single victor. All fifty-nine of them.

All the disposal of these kids to act out. To mock, to poke fun at, or to play some game with. Is this how the victors are supposed to be treated? Is this what the Capitol intended?

For kids to simply mock? For kids to make some game out of?

Of course not.

But, I can't say anything. I have to stand there, clean up after them, and pretend to enjoy watching this.

It's just the life I live now.

It's not like I had a choice.

* * *

**District One**

Male: Audric Lavier, 18.

Female: Constance Baudin, 18.

**District Two**

Male: Kace Evedane, 17.

Female: Ceres Milani, 18.

**District Three**

Male: Chet Perry, 16.

Female: Kapera Silliah, 17.

**District Four**

Male: Alamar Seward, 18.

Female: Carina Ellison, 17.

**District Five**

Male: Evan Aleces, 17.

Female: Limnic Hablitz, 16.

**District Six**

Male: Nerva Vindex, 16.

Female: Inger Melville, 17.

**District Seven**

Male: Silas Braxton, 16.

Female: Katcia Elspeth, 17.

**District Eight**

Male: Rollo Damario, 16.

Female: Maureen Lowell, 18.

**District Nine**

Male: Dymas Corrigan, 17.

Female: Damaris Ponte, 18.

**District Ten**

Male: Peros Nebron, 13.

Female: Haley Carradine, 17.

**District Eleven**

Male: Lomman Rybar, 15.

Female: Copper Donoghue, 16.

**District Twelve**

Male: Kade Blaire, 16.

Female: Amelia Winters, 16.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Here are the links for the blog (They can also be found on my profile, which would probably be easier):

w w w. shotinthedarkhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

Some questions on them, yeah? I'll save the personal questions for later.

_From the tribute blog, who stood out to you? Any favorites just from that?_

Some general comments would be nice to read, too.

And for the mentor.

_From the mentor blog, who stood out to you? Any favorites that you'd like to see appear in the story?_

Oh, I should talk about submissions too. Really, this time it was a lot harder to choose tributes for this story; I got more than I usually do, and so I had to really think about each tribute and who I would want to write. Don't take it personally that I'm not using your tribute or anything, it's just that were others that piqued my interest more and that I could do more with.

I don't want to offend anyone by not accepting their tribute, so.

And that's it, I guess. Next chapter should be up soon (lol moment when I already have it done..)


	3. Reapings: Part One

w w w. shotinthedarkhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Nerva Vindex  
District Six Male, 16 Years Old  
Before Reapings**

* * *

Today is just like any other day.

It's just like any other day in this District. The poverty, the malnourished, the discontent. Even with the Reapings, not much changes; perhaps, by being reaped, it gives you an outlet. It lets you escape.

It lets you have freedom.

To get away from this… this place that I have to call home. My home that's full of people that will die one day and full of buildings that wither away as time goes on. Time won't stop for anyone, especially not for District Six.

No one cares about District Six enough. Not even me.

Clutching the package in my hand, I open the front door slowly, trying not to make the creek too loud. It only creeks a little, and as I close it even slower, I finally step in all the way. I glance from side-to-side, trying to find some hint that my mother's home, and when I don't hear or see her, I smirk.

Walking up the stair case right in front of me, I glide my hand along the railing, these stairs making an even louder creek than that old door. As I reach the top, I take a left, leading right into my father's room. In his room, he's sitting there, rocking back and forth in his chair.

"Nerva," he states, not seeming to want a start conversation.

"Syphon," I deadpan back to him, never really caring to address him as father to his face. He's ungrateful about everything else.

As I get closer, it seems that the yellow hue of his skin is more noticeable today, and I can't help but scoff a little. I drop the package off at the table next to him, making sure to have slipped myself a little of it.

It's not he needs all this morphling.

He'll die eventually, so I'd rather not waste it all.

"Do you where your mother is?" He asks, his voice weak, and he reaches for the syringe. "She went out earlier today…"

"No," I reply.

"Do you know where your sister is?" He asks another question, beginning to fill the vile up with the liquid-morphling.

"No."

"Do you know anything?" This time, he sounds exasperated; even more than normal.

"I know that today is the Reaping Day," I answer, disregarding the sarcasm in my voice. "Do _you_ know anything?"

My father stays quiet, and as he prepares to inject the morphling into himself, I turn away. When other people use it, I feel uneasy and a tad offended, but when I use it, it's okay.

People use it because they're in pain or they're sick.

I use it as an escape.

To deal with my problems, to escape from this reality, the taste of the hallucinations better than what I'm doing now.

But, maybe I won't use it today. How bad could it go? It's only Reaping day, after all. Not much changes on this day. I mean, except for two less children that District Six calls their own, but what does it matter?

We'll all die eventually, won't we?

For one, I'd rather die in the Hunger Games. You can't fight death, so why waste my time? These Chariot Rides, Interviews, and everything in-between are all a waste of time.

It's just prolonging the inevitable.

As I reach the bottom of the stair case, I grumble at the sight of my sister, Daia. I try to slip around her, but once she notices me, she drops the plate onto the counter. I feel obligated to at least wave at her, and as I come into her view, she waves her finger at me.

Sulking, I reluctantly walk over to her.

Daia always has something to say.

Daia glances down at my pocket, already knowing what's inside of it. She rolls her eyes, bringing the fork back up to her mouth, making a face as she tastes the food.

"Plan on killing yourself today, Nerva?" She teases, but really, she sounds serious. She knows me too well.

"Just make sure to spit on my grave," I jeer, winking at her. "Hope you choke."

"Hope you over-dose."

At her retort, I let out a deep chuckle, for once actually enjoying her sarcasm. Not that I really care for it in general; sarcasm is just a way we cope with life. If you make a joke, it makes everything seem less… less serious, you know?

Sarcasm is just another form of protection.

Sort of like this morphling for me.

I take a seat next to Daia, beginning to play with the food on the plate. I figure that if I do in-fact get reaped today, I might as well eat something. The Capitol's food might taste as good as this garbage.

"I'm home!" From the kitchen I can tell that it's my mother's voice, sounding a little out of breath. "Nerva? Daia? Syphon?"

"In the kitchen," Daia calls out, placing her fork next to her plate. She gets up from the table, swinging the door into the kitchen open, revealing my mother behind it.

My mother and Daia engage in some small talk, my mother occasionally glancing at me with a worried look. I make a face at her, trying to help her get over what today is, but apparently, it doesn't work. I just don't see why it's such a big deal.

It's only the Reaping Day.

It's _only _the day where two teenagers from District Six will go down the path to death a little earlier than most would. I still cling onto the idea that going to the Hunger Games is better than living here.

The smog, the dirt, the garbage.

It's not as lovely as it seems.

On the corner of the table, there's a newspaper, and before I grab it, I chuckle to myself. As if anything they post in these papers is true; it's all censored beyond belief. To protect us from the truth, to help us live our lives without worrying.

Without worrying about the pollution, the poverty, or how the Capitol treats us.

That's not how District Six people should live. Or, at least, that's what the Capitol wants – to the problems that we're facing to be a secret. Then, no one would be unhappy with what's going on.

I'm not that stupid, though. I see all of these things.

Skimming through the article on the front, all I see is the word 'Capitol' repeated over and over again; it's always about them. It's funny, though, how District Six's media perceives the Capitol; clearly, it's regulated and influenced by them, but still, it's worth a laugh.

District Six thinks that the Capitol admires them for producing transportation. They think that the Capitol genuinely cares about them, and that one day, we might get something out of it. That's all bullshit.

The Capitol couldn't care less about us.

They probably care more about the drug ring in the District than those silly trains and hovercrafts we make.

The Capitol probably cares more about District One or District Three. One is where luxuries are produced and the other one where new gadgets are made. The Capitol's narcissistic like that.

It's just a bunch of kings and queens of naivety. They're only happy when they get to show off their new clothes or toys to their friends, flaunting off the District's work, not even their own.

But, the government themselves, now that is something else. It's just laughable. I recognize how the Capitol attempts to control the Districts through the Hunger Games, but really, what are they getting out of it?

As if killing a few children every year would make things better.

Am I the only one who sees this? The corruption and how warped it all is?

All of this just reminds me of one of my errands. I was delivering some morphling to another customer, this one being more secretive and undercover. When I arrived at his house, he was too busy talking to himself, and once he saw me, he kept babbling.

He asked me: What do I think about rebellion?

I shrugged. I really don't care about rebellion.

His response was, "The shorter leash you keep on them, the further they will go when it snaps."

At first, I smirked at him. I thought his words were cute, but after a while, it came to me. I didn't care about it snapping, I just wanted to know when it would. I wanted to know when that leash would be snapped.

Now, that is something I would want to live for.

After seeing a rebellion, I could die happily. That would bring some excitement to my life.

Maybe even the Hunger Games can too. How bad can being reaped be, anyway?

It's only death we're dealing with.

There are for worse things in this world than death.

And being reaped is not one of those things.

* * *

**Narissa Vire  
District Two Victor, 19 Years Old  
Reapings**

* * *

It was just a year ago.

A year ago I was down there, shaking nervously. Standing there with broadened shoulders, mentally preparing myself to run up to this stage. To run up to this stage, to take down whatever gets in my way. It was my turn to volunteer.

It was my turn to win.

And, in that moment, as I glanced at my mother, the look in her the eye showed me that this was the right thing to do. To volunteer for her, to volunteer for District Two. I wasn't in it for the money, the fame, or the reputation.

I was in it for my District.

For my mother. To follow in her foot-steps and to become the victor that she was. The spunky, patriotic, and refined victor that Nashira used to be. She was an idol for District Two, and as she begins to age, so does her reputation. And we all knew it; she needed someone to revitalize it.

So, there was me. I was her outlet to regain a reputation.

Now, here I am – the Victor of the Fifty-Ninth Hunger Games. And as I sit here, completely disregarding the video that's playing right now about the Dark Days and Hunger Games, I find myself looking at my mother again. This time, she doesn't even glance at me, and for a moment, I feel like I've done all I could.

That there's nothing else she wants from me.

That killing five people wasn't good for her or that winning wasn't enough.

What else could I do? Bring home another victor? Produce another daughter, who would eventually win?

Is that what she wants?

I can do that for her, and I'll do anything for her.

The escort claps her hands, the sound snapping me out of my thoughts. My eyes shoot up, looking back into the crowd, and as I turn to the left, I see my mother. She's attentively staring at the escort, her hands folded over each other in her lap, her back being completely straight.

She always had good posture.

"Now, District Two," the escort pauses, building the anticipation in the audience. "It's time for the Reapings!"

The escort backs up, letting the screen behind her going completely black. There's silence throughout the audience, and even on the stage, now. I'll admit that I am intrigued by the Reapings, partly because it's my first year as mentor and the other part because I know what it's like.

I know what it's like to stand down there, waiting for the right time to volunteer. I just hope that they know what they're doing; I'd rather start my mentor-years off with a bang.

I chuckle a little at my own joke. A bang, not as a cannon, but as something good. I wouldn't want to be wasting my time.

"Let's start with males, shall we?" The escort speaks into the microphone, and as I look over, she's already at the Reaping bowl.

It's pointless to pick a name. We all know that there will be a volunteer.

The escort hesitates to pick a card from the bowl, and before she knows it, there's a male in the aisle already. It's a tall boy, and if I may say so myself, he's rather handsome. Just from his appearance, I can recall seeing him in the Training Center, but I can't figure out his name. I'll figure out soon enough.

He walks up to the stage, a certain confidence in every movement. He keeps his arms tight to his side, making him look more muscular than he already is. Walking up the stage, we make eye-contact, a smirk growing on his face. I can't help but smile back at this boy.

At the male who will represent District Two this year.

"Kace Edevane," he states, a smile on his face that shows all of his teeth. "My name is Kace Edevane."

I remember the name from somewhere, but for what, I don't know. I shrug, knowing that I'll get to know him later on in the Capitol. The escort grabs his hand, and he complies, slipping his fingers in between hers. That's cute; a boy who doesn't mind playing up the girls.

Maybe he'll be more interesting than I think.

"Now, for the girls!" She calls out, sauntering over towards the female's bowl now. "Your female tribute for this year will be…"

I look over the crowd quickly, trying to see if I can see anyone already ready to volunteer. Although I don't concern myself with the Training Center too much, I heard that a girl was picked from the trainees and mentors to volunteer today. There's a rumor, though, that this girl dropped out or something like that. It's nearly a shame.

"I volunteer," a girl calls out, but it's not a shout; it's more-so a statement. As if we knew all along that she would volunteer – that there's no doubt that she would volunteer. Confidence, apparently.

Looking through the aisle, I try to locate this girl, and that's when I see her. The dark-skinned girl slips into the aisle, her arms held tightly to her side as well. She walks up, much quicker than Kace did, repeating herself one last time.

"I volunteer," she states, this time in a more serious tone.

"What's your name, dear?" The escort asks, leaning forward a little off the stage.

"Ceres Milani," the girl replies, looking right into the eyes of the escort. "And I volunteer."

As Ceres walks onto the stage, she stands next to Kace, not even giving him a glance. As the audience goes quiet, all eyes are on the two tributes now, and that's when I see Kace moving his face towards Ceres'. Kace plants a gentle kiss on Ceres face, a smile following it. To my surprise, Ceres turns towards him, kissing Kace right back on the face.

Well, that isn't something you see every day.

District partners who are so fond of each other already. It might be just to please the audience or to play it up, but at this point, I don't care. I'll cling onto this; in order to win, they need to be cooperative and they have to work together.

That's how I won.

Not by killing five people without even flinching, but by working with my mentor. By listening, by being creative, and by being intuitive. I didn't win with arrogance or brute strength.

I won, and now, so can these two. I can work with them.

From first-glance, they seem to have potential. To have that extra edge that could maybe – just maybe – bring home another victor. Another victor to bolster District Two's reputation.

And if I were to bring home another victor on my first year as mentor, she would be ecstatic. Maybe then I would have her approval once again, seeing the same look in her eye like I did a year ago.

I miss that look she had in her eye.

It made me feel wanted.

It made me feel like I finally did something good in life.

I just want to see that look again.

* * *

**Coleen Morisette  
District Four Victor, 48 Years Old  
Reapings**

* * *

_Where is he?_

Looking out into the crowd, I scan all of the kids, looking for a particular one.

Once I get to the eighteen-year-old male section, I look a little more carefully, finally finding the boy that I wanted to find. There he is; Clyde, my brother's son. I smile a little, letting out a breath of relief, seeing that he's too far into the section to leap out into the aisle.

I was hoping that he wouldn't plan on volunteering at all.

My brother, Evan, tried to convince Clyde not to. It took a few years for Clyde to even think about volunteering, and once he became serious about it, I had to do something. I couldn't let him go into the Games.

I couldn't do that to Evan.

I couldn't do that to myself.

To mentor my own nephew, digging my nails into my leg as he ran off into the Bloodbath. I wouldn't be able to watch him in the Games, nonetheless mentor him. Convincing him wasn't as easy as I hoped it would be, but after a while, I got through to him.

Clyde was too proud to let go of the idea. He told everyone that he was going to volunteer, that the next victor District Four would have would be this year. That he would this year's Games. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

I told him that I had all the money he needed. Then, he said it wasn't about the money; he wanted to make something of himself. He reminded me of myself, in a way, when I was eighteen years old, just like him. We were similar, but I still couldn't let it happen.

Even if he wanted to volunteer now, he's too far into the section. Someone else would get to it first.

"Welcome, District Four!" The escort cries out, stumbling on her heels a little. "To this year's Reapings for the Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games!"

The number sixty resonates in my mind, making me think quickly about my Games. Thirty years today was when I volunteered, not knowing that I'd eventually win. Here I am now, sitting upon this stage with the five other victors for District Four.

Here, I feel at home.

Over the years, I've gotten use to all of them, learning things about them that they would never share. I even mentored a few of them, so the development that they all went through is one thing I enjoyed watching. They all turned out be such great victors – every single one of them.

It lets me take pride in my District.

The District that treated me as such once I won.

"Ladies first," the escort says into the microphone, hunching over the female's bowl. She picks out a card, and as I scan the girl's section, I can't see anyone already going to volunteer. "Do we have a… Kairi Lasson?"

And that's when I see a girl coming.

She makes her way to the stage, looking at the girl's section, and then at the boy's section. She sways her head back and forth, acting like she owns the place, and I laugh quietly to myself. I'm sure I looked like that all those years back.

Just as sure of myself.

This girl walks up the stage, and I sit back, admiring her appearance. She's not the typical District Four girl, since she seems to be more edgy. She has that extra kick to her, apparently, just from the way she made her way up here. Maybe we have something different this year.

Perhaps someone like me.

I don't know if I could deal with myself twice, though. Once was enough.

"Carina Ellison," she says, craning her head upwards, looking down at everyone.

Carina doesn't say anything else, waiting for the escort to continue the Reaping. Before she can read the name off the card she just picked, we already have the volunteer for this year, standing broadly in the center of the aisle.

It's a dark-skinned boy – something you don't see every day, especially not a volunteer. Most are tanned, but this one, he's not from white-descent. He makes his way up, his foot-steps dignified and he walks with a certain aura to him. He walks up the stairs, not even glancing at Carina.

These two will be interesting.

"Alamar Seward," he states, his voice deep.

And he doesn't say anything else either. The two of them just want to get straight to the point.

Glancing to my left, I see Mags and Atlas there, all staring at these tributes. I know that Mags doesn't want to mentor this year – she made a request not to – and I'm not sure about Atlas. He's always up for a challenge, even as he's getting older. Then glancing to my right, I see Morty and Triton watching the tributes too, not paying much attention to me.

Then I see Tigris.

She's staring back at me, the look in her eye making me smile gently at her. She remains expressionless, only staring right back at me. Perhaps she wants to volunteer.

And I can't blame her.

She won her Games fair and square, no matter what anyone says. Maybe she wants to prove herself; honestly, a few of us didn't want her to mentor anyone. She's too intrusive, too out-of-the-box. She's not all there in the mind, even if I hate to say it, but maybe this year we'll let her.

Tigris could even bring someone home – who knows at this point.

We all try different things, and although it's unfortunate, nothing has worked. Even with my age, I still have the desire to mentor in me, but I think that's it's time to let someone else do it. To bring in new ideas, new tips.

"Here you are, District Four!" The escort hollers, raising the hands of both of the tributes. "Carina Ellison and Alamar Seward!"

Carina and Alamar.

They sound like good victor names, don't they?

Carina Ellison – District Four's newest victor! Or, Alamar Seward – District Four's newest victor!

I laugh quietly to myself again, resting my back against the chair. Folding my arms over my chest, I look at everyone one last time, and for a moment, it doesn't seem real.

Even after all these years I still can't get used to it.

That I was once a tribute, but for me, it turned out differently.

I did more than participate in the Games.

I won them.

And maybe one of them will too.

* * *

**Limnic Hablitz  
District Five Female, 16 Years Old  
Goodbyes**

* * *

_Me._

_Limnic Hablitz reaped._

Looking out the window, I see that crowd is now dispersing, and as every other girl walks away, I feel jealous. Jealous that they're not the one up here, and that I'm up here now, waiting to say my good-byes. Good-byes from people that I couldn't care less about. People that, even though I've wished it before, I probably won't see again.

And I accept that.

As I hear a knock on the door, I bring my finger to my eyes, wiping away any tears. I straighten my back, shaking a little, wanting to suppress any visible emotion. I'm not here to look sad or to look pitiful; I'm here to make them want to miss me.

They could at least think of me while I'm gone.

I can hear from the sobs behind me that my first visitors are my family, and as I turn around, I already have my mother wrapping her arms around me. Behind her are my father and my siblings, Aleah, Granger, and Carzule. I smile at them, only getting a smile back from Granger and Carzule, but not from Aleah.

I roll my eyes.

If there's anyone I couldn't break, it was her. She was never fond of me, and frankly, I don't know why. I don't really do much.

Seeing her grit her teeth, I begin to whimper in my mother's ear, the warmth of her around me making me get emotional. Pushing the genuine emotions aside, I cover them up with fake ones, not wanting them to see what I'm feeling. I look back up, letting a few tears slid down my cheek, staring right at Aleah.

"Why are you doing this?" I pout, clutching onto my mother tighter. "Do you not understand what's going to happen to me?"

My father places his hand on Aleah's shoulder, and she rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders. I let go of my mother, letting her turn back to the family, embracing a hug from my brothers.

"What's going to happen to _you_?" Aleah snaps, taking a step forward. "You selfish brat."

Perking up at her words, I quickly suppress the anger that boils inside of me, not wanting to start something. I don't want to leave on a bad note with my family; not now. My father pulls her back a little, and as the Peacekeeper comes to the door, even I want them to leave.

Before my mother goes, though, she drops something off at the table near the door. I don't look at it yet, not wanting to see what it is or what it could mean to me. If anything, I wouldn't have wanted a token, but I'll accept it. It's the least _I _could do for them – not be selfish, just like Aleah said.

They all look at me silently, not saying a word to one another. I guess that these are their good-byes.

Aren't they just wonderful?

The door doesn't even close, my next visitors coming in. This time, it's my friends – that's what you call them. _Friends._ People you trust, people you spend time with, people you like. That is what these people are to me.

Friends.

I laugh at the thought.

Kerrington, Fyfe, Jeremiah, and Mango all usher in, all of them surrounding me immediately. They all just stand there, their minds probably going through all the memories that we shared. They are thinking of the memories where I feigned interest, just nodding my head or smiling at anything.

Those are the memories that I have no regard for.

Around me, they all murmur, and I put a smile on my face. It's not a genuine smile, and even if I convince myself that I don't care if they're sad, it does hurt a little. I've never seen any of them like this.

"Oh, come on, guys," I say, extending my hands. "How bad could it be?"

Kerrington sneers a little, shushing herself after it. "You could die?"

Fyfe shoves Kerrington with her hand. "Are you kidding? Now is the time you decide to be annoying?"

I laugh.

It's all I can manage to do.

We sit there in silence for a few more seconds, all of us just gazing into each other's eyes. What is there to say, really? Good-bye? See you soon? Have a nice trip? Good luck?

It's all trite, meaningless, and stupid. I'd rather sit here in silence and stare at the ground than hear any of that.

"So, this is it…," Jeremiah murmurs, looking down at his feet. I look at the boy, smirking at myself as I recall that he's the one that always did my work for me. He always was there to do whatever I asked him to.

That's what I'll miss most about these people – oh, wait, they're my friends. That's what they are; not just people.

The Peacekeeper walks into the room, holding out his hand, gesturing that it's time for them to go. They all give me a hug, some of them lasting longer than others. Once they're gone, I wait a moment, making sure that I don't have any more visitors.

I didn't think I'd get that many, so even those were a surprise.

Sauntering over towards the place where mother dropped my token, I look around, fighting the urge to just leave it there. But, as I get closer, I realize what it is – it's the doll my mother made for me when I was about five.

It's a fabric doll, one with a nice blue dress on it and blue ribbons in her hair. My mother always told me that this doll resembles me, in a way, because I always looked like a doll.

A doll for a doll.

Seems fitting.

Holding the doll tightly in my hand, I think back about all of the people that just visited me, and for a moment, I feel nostalgic. I feel emotional, something I'm not really used to it.

Not genuinely emotional… I'm usually feigning it, just making it up to get a reaction from people. I never meant anything I felt, said, or did.

And now that everyone has said good-bye, it makes me realize something. It makes me realize that my life was never serious. Not until now, that is; now I have to take things seriously if I want to survive.

I don't want to survive for them. I want to survive for myself.

Maybe that does make me selfish.

But, what does it matter? What does it matter what any of them think about me? Their opinions are useless to me.

I never really cared. They were just there to entertain to me, to keep me company. They never meant anything to me, so why would they now? I'm off to the Hunger Games.

There, I will have to deal with a bunch of whole new different people. Not these impressionable kids of District Five. Maybe I'll finally meet someone that poses a challenge; one who I can't captivate so soon.

That would make things interesting.

Someone who I can't woo over with my words, with my gestures, with my appearance. Someone who I can't have wrapped around my finger-tip, becoming the pawn of my creation.

And maybe that's what I'll miss most about District Five.

How much control I have. How much influence I have. How many people I have.

I can't think about them anymore, though. I'm over it, really. I always knew that one day, they would leave, and I would have to as well. Everything is temporary here, and now that I was reaped, this is my outlet.

My outlet to start new.

And if I have to take down a few people once I get there, so be it. I'm sure they'll be just as easy. I'll use my words, use my looks, and use anything else I can come up with. I know to how work people – that is one thing I'm confident with.

Nothing could go wrong.

Unless… No.

I know what I'm doing.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

(I had this whole author's note planned out.. then deleted it, but hey-ho.)

Anyway, there we go! The first Reaping chapter. I'll have one more after that in the same style of format (One before, two Mentor during, and one after.)

That'll probably be the last chapter before I'm going away and take a break from FF for about twelve days. We'll see.

Well, I don't have any specific questions, but.. What did you think of the tributes? Any of them stood out to you?

And a personal one!

_If you were a tribute, what would you want as your token?_


	4. Reapings: Part Two

w w w. shotinthedarkhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Damaris Ponte  
District Nine Female, 18 Years Old  
Before Reapings**

* * *

I can't put my finger on it.

I just can't describe why District Nine is so tranquil, so naturally beautiful, without being speechless. Perhaps, it's the way the rows of grain interlock with one another, seeming to never end. Or maybe it's the way those beige-colored birds, the ones that no one knows the name of, tend to flock to a certain area every time the first layer of snow comes.

Or maybe it's the way District Nine is just so rustic. So traditional, so laid-back. Maybe that's it.

It might not be any of these things. It might even be something as simple as the silence; the silence that lets me close my eyes, just thinking about my life. Silence is common in District Nine – it's always been.

Noise is just a distraction. The occasional sound of a shout, usually from a Peacekeeper, or the sound of someone dropping a clay pot. It could be any of these things, really. They're all valid.

Even if District Nine might not be the most suitable place to live, it's home. It's recognized as one of the poorer Districts, but honestly, I don't really mind; money's never been a big aspect of my life – it was always my mother who took care of the financial aspect of our life. I never dealt with money often.

Even as a child, I never dealt with currency often; I got what I got, never asking for much.

There's not much in District Nine, anyway. We don't have those fancy gadgets or those luxurious clothes that everyone in the Capitol is dying to have. It is what it is, even if it could be better. Everything could be better, can't it? Nothing's perfect.

We might be frowned upon from the higher-class Districts and the Capitol, but if District Nine was perceived differently, it might make life easier for everyone. For the field-workers, for the shop-owners, and even for the Peacekeepers.

But, I can't do anything. So, I'll just have to nod my head, accepting everything as it is. That doesn't stop me from wanting more, though. There's always something else we all yearn for.

Even if it's far-fetched, we still all want something.

From around the bend of this little path through a small patch of forest, I hear the scampering of footsteps, immediately assuming that it's children. Usually, I would smile at the sound, laughing at how much they enjoy themselves. But, today… today is different.

It's the Reaping day.

As the kids come by, I smile sweetly at them, all of them glancing up at me as they run after one another. The sight of them running just makes me feel even more uneasy, but I suppress the thoughts, not wanting to feel even worse about today.

Shrugging, I continue to walk, swaying my head side-to-side at the sounds of the birds in the tree chirping. They're the blue ones, the ones with the red-specs on the wings. These are one of my favorite types of birds; they make a soothing sound, one that would help you fall asleep.

They just make feel… calm.

That's what I like about District Nine – how calm it makes you. How tranquil and silent it is.

I might just be that type of person, but a lot more people should appreciate the hushed atmosphere of District Nine. Outside of these walls, life changes, and people don't appreciate that enough. They take living in District Nine for granted.

As I turn the next corner, I run my finger along the tree I come across, my finger getting pricked a little. I laugh quietly to myself, not wanting to ruin the whole moment. Once I see a few Peacekeepers coming my way, though, I look down at the ground.

These are the types of people I tend to stay away from. They don't do much for my well-being.

"Good-morning, girl," the older one says, this specific one notorious for harsh treatment of the citizens. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for the Reaping?" He asks, his tone being completely mocking.

I keep walking, continuing to stare down at the ground. I bite down on my tongue, not wanting to give him any satisfaction or even look at him. He just wants to taunt us, to show that he doesn't have to worry about what everyone else here does.

I hear the pack of Peacekeepers stop, the older one beginning to follow me a little. Tensing up a little, I look up ahead of me, seeing that there's a group of people. I sigh, knowing that I can blend in with them now, not having to being teased by him.

"Don't get there too quickly," he calls, stopping in his tracks. "Don't rush the probability of you being reaped… and _killed_. Don't forget about that bit."

Biting down on my tongue a little harder, I clench my mouth shut tightly, resisting the urge to look at him. I wouldn't have anything to say; I'd probably get in trouble if I said anything. If District Nine had a draw-back, it'd be the Peacekeepers. They're all miserable and wretched human beings.

I only have the Capitol to blame for that, though. They let them act like this.

As I approach the group of people, I stop, watching them all walk past me with the same expressionless look on their face. They all must be getting back from work today, and for a moment, I try to see if my mother's somewhere in the crowd. On Reaping Day, workers get let out early, and honestly, it's just ironic.

I don't find my mother, but I do see someone's light brown hair bobbing up and down, and as she turns around, I see from the brown eyes that it's Aliye. She sees me, a small smirk appearing on her face, and then she turns back around to the people around. I forgot that she has new friends now.

I'm just the old friend to her; I don't mean much to her anymore.

I look down back at the ground, feeling a little upset at how Aliye just decided to ignore me, remembering everything we used to do together. We used to play together, just like those kids that were running along the path. Once she met the upper-class girls, though, it all changed.

I'm not even sure why Aliye left me. She got along with everyone, but once they were introduced to her, I wasn't her friends anymore. It's okay, though. People change, people leave.

It happens with everyone.

"Damaris!"

At the sound of my name, I perk up, glancing behind my shoulder. Sharice, my sister, stands behind me, a few bags in her hand. I smile at the sight of her, only wondering where she got all the bags from – we don't have enough money to just buy whatever we want whenever.

She probably used her oh-so charming personality to get those.

"What do you have there?" I ask, the sight of her struggling to carry them all being rather humorous.

"Oh, that old man," she replies, nearly dropping one of them. Her head peeps out from behind them, showing her whole face to me now. "You know, the one who runs the store… he said this was a gift. No idea for what."

I smile at her, the thought of the old man only doing it because it's Reaping day making me feel bad. He's probably giving us all of these things to act as some apology gift if we were to be reaped. Sharice is my twin, so we do have the same odds, but if she were to be reaped… I couldn't live with it.

I'd rather myself be reaped for the Hunger Games.

"Is something wrong?" Sharice asks, a certain look on her face that makes me feel better. "Damaris?"

Holding out my hands, I gesture for her to give me some of the bags, and I begin to carry them back to the house with her. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just tired."

"Uh-huh," she says, walking past me, her shoulder brushing against mine. "Let's see what mom's up to."

Walking next to my sister, I smile some more, her presence making me feel better. But, I know what we're getting into today, and I can't ignore that. It's Reaping day – the day where one girl gets picked to go into the Hunger Games. Just one girl, out of all of them in District Nine.

What are the chances of us being picked? Slim to none, isn't it?

It better be.

I can't be reaped… and neither can Sharice.

We couldn't do that to our mother.

Not after everything she's been through.

Not after everything _we've_ been through.

* * *

**Adalia Greer  
District Seven Victor, 25 Years Old  
Reapings**

* * *

"Don't stare, Cassia. You might go cross-eyed."

I whisper to Cassia, reaching my arm behind Duke and Aiken to push her shoulder a little. She doesn't react, continuing to stare right at all of the Peacekeepers around us. I smirk, lounging back in my chair a little, waiting for the video to be over.

Cassia really hasn't lost her touch.

Her resentful and angry touch. The one that she won her Games with, the one that will probably get her killed. This time, though, I don't blame her. What the Capitol is doing to District Seven now is just absurd.

They're punishing us for what our governor did. Now, the security is amped up, the Peacekeepers having the right to check every single person that comes to the Reaping today. Apparently, there was a rumor of an assassination attempt for the new Capitol-born governor, the one who replaced our old one.

And that's our punishment.

But, it's still early in the year. I'm sure the Capitol will come up with different ways to make sure that District Seven doesn't pull anything like that again. Once was enough, but twice… twice would just be stupid. District Seven couldn't make the same mistake again, could they?

Maybe other Districts, but not Seven. We know that we can't pull that anymore. It was all the governor's fault, not even District Seven as a whole. It was his idea to start training tributes and to get more recognition from the Capitol and from the other Districts.

It's not like I was completely against the idea of training a few tributes, but now, I can't even express my knowledge of it. If I show any awareness of what happened, I'd be persecuted somehow. Probably jail or public execution.

The Capitol doesn't want to hear about it anymore than District Seven does. It's mutual at this point.

It was a mistake.

And District Seven had to pay a price for that.

"Females first," the escort chirps, her voice oddly calm. "Let's get right into it… Do we have a Katcia Elspeth?"

As she folds the paper back over, she glares into the crowd, and I follow her eyes. A tall blonde steps into the aisle, her eyes wandering and she seems to be shaking a little bit. As she walks to the stage, I can see her more clearly, her slim frame shaking uncontrollably. Tears are forming in her eyes, and as she walks up the stairs, that is when they begin to slide down her cheeks.

She's crying. It's making me uncomfortable.

Boo-hoo, Katcia. The Games aren't even that bad as most people make them seem. If I was never reaped, I'd probably be dead right about now. I had nothing before I won – literally, I had nothing. All I had to do was kill a few kids to get something in this District.

Now, I'm living in a big house. I have endless food and endless clothing. It's not even that bad.

The Capitol gave me a new start. I can't complain.

"Now, males," she says, this time a little louder. Katcia's still sobbing to the side, the escort completely ignoring her. "Come on up here, Silas Braxton!"

The first thing I notice about this boy is how pale he is. He stares ahead, his eyes blinking rapidly, and he plays with his hands in front of him. He coughs, an awkward laugh escaping, and stumbles forwards. As she walks, he scratches the back of his neck, obviously unaware of what to do in this situation.

Is he okay?

"Come on up here, Silas!" The escort calls out to him, reaching out her hand for him to grab. As he grabs it, he comes onto the stage, blushing as he looks at Katcia.

That's cute.

"Here you are, District Seven!" The escort calls out, waving her hands towards the two tributes. I look at them, the two of them looking like complete messes. "Katcia Elspeth and Silas Braxton!"

I chuckle.

This is really what we're dealing with this year. Some tall girl, who can barely keep herself together right now, and the other one is some boy who apparently hasn't seen the sun in a while. Honestly, I'd rather not mentor; I'll leave it up to Blight and whoever else wants to.

Mentoring isn't something I enjoy. Talking to tributes is hard enough, and once you see them die, you can't help but smirk a little. All along, you know that some tributes will die, but once you come across a pair that might make it out alive, they mess up. District Seven tends to have that problem.

We are the lumber District, yes? So, we should have tributes that can handle themselves? With an axe, with strength? Yeah, that's what I thought, but after all these years, I was just wrong. I even thought that District Seven could be a Career District one year, but now, that's out of the question.

We're just District Seven, that's all. The District with five victors.

Only if they realized that the Games aren't even that bad. They gave me something; they let me have a life. They gave me everything I have right now.

It only took a few deaths.

The Games aren't as bad as most people make them seem. Once you get past the killing, then you're fine.

I just hope they realize that.

But, no. The other mentors here are all too reserved and too against the Capitol. They would never tell the tributes that the Games are helpful; if you win, you live a life of luxury and have all the leisure time you need. That is until you begin to mentor, but regardless, it's better than the life most people live beforehand.

Do I respect the Capitol? No.

Do I like the Capitol? No.

But, I know what they did for me. Without them, I'd still be living on the streets and eating the scraps I found in the garbage. That's why I can't really judge the Capitol much.

They did this for me.

And I am forever grateful.

* * *

**Paisley Rallon  
District Eight Victor, 30 Years Old  
Reapings**

* * *

_Breathe._

_Breathe, Paisley. Breathe._

"Paisley?" I hear Rove ask, placing his hand over my trembling hands. He presses his hand down, making me stop moving, and I look at him, seeing a smile on his face.

I exhale, closing my eyes. He keeps his hand on top of my hands, the warmth of his touch making me feel somewhat better, but once I open my eyes again, I begin to tremble some more.

Their eyes… they're all on me. Their eyes are all staring at us, judging us silently. They're looking at us, the same look in their eyes as they would look at a Peacekeeper. They're judging us. They're resenting us.

They don't like us – Woof, Urban, Rove, Cecelia, and I. The victors.

"It's going to be okay, Paisley," Rove whispers, lifting up his hand, but I grab it back, wrapping mine around his. "Just calm down."

Nodding, I look back at the escort, the bright pink hue of her outfit distracting me for a moment. Do they really put us on the same level on them? Do the people of District Eight really compare us to… to them? To the people of the Capitol?

Are we just pawns to District Eight? Pawns who gave the Capitol what they want. We are victors – the ones who have won the Hunger Games. The ones who have killed in order to be up here.

We all have killed.

Even me… and I still can't forget it. It was down to the girl from Three, Millea, who was about the same age of me. She kept yelling and shouting, taunting me to fight her. I couldn't fight, though. I could never kill someone… it wasn't like me. I was too young, too innocent to ever lay a finger on someone.

Me making it down to the Final Two was just luck.

It wasn't supposed to happen, but it did. Millea killed more than I could ever imagine in that arena, the one with the bright blue sky and the bright blue water. The one seemed so tranquil, but once you realized where you were, it was all over. As I cowered back in the bushes, watching Millea as she came after me with her machete, I cried.

And I couldn't stop crying.

All Millea did was laugh. She laughed, raising the machete above my head; she never expected me to react, and neither did I. I raise my knife, the blade puncturing her right in the stomach, the look on her face still in my mind ever since.

Fourteen years ago only seem like yesterday.

The way she looked down at me, not a single tear rolling down her cheek. I was the only one crying, the guilt and my own self-loathing swallowing me whole. It was a bad day.

And it's been a bad day ever since.

I can't even bear leaving that house much if Rove isn't there with me. He makes it better… he makes me forget.

"Welcome, District Eight," she calls out, her voice ringing in my eyes. I begin to shake again, but once Rove tightens his grip on my hands, I calm down a little. "To this year's Reaping for the Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games!'

I begin to shake again, her words sounding like the exact same thing they said to me as I was reaped. As my name was called up, my sobs blocking everything out around me. I couldn't take it then, and even to this day I still can't take it. It's all too much… it's all too much for someone to have to deal with.

No one should have to go through is.

Victor or not, no one should.

"Males first!" As she walks over to the male's bowl, I look down at all of the boys below the stage, their eyes all peering up at her. They're all so scared… and I don't blame them.

I am scared too.

"The boy that will be representing District Eight this year will be," she says, opening the card slowly. She pauses, making my hands tremble even more, my chest feeling too heavy for me to keep breathing. "Farro Damario!"

Following his name, there's commotion in the boy's section. I begin to panic, looking around to see who the boy is, but then I see two of them. There are two boys standing in the aisle, one of them being younger than the other. Looking at Rove, I begin to breathe frantically, not wanting to look down at the Reaping.

"I volunteer!" The older one shouts, putting his arm in front of the younger boy. "I am Rollo Damario, and I volunteer for my brother, Farro."

My heart shatters; seeing this boy volunteer for his brother makes this moment that much worse, the image of the two of them murmuring things to one another in the aisle making me begin to tear up. No… no. It's not fair. It's not fair to either of them.

It's not fair to their family.

"Well, come on up, Rollo!" The escort calls out, gesturing for him to start walking. The boy begins to walk up, a grimace of some sort on his face, not even looking back at his brother once.

Once the boy gets on the stage, I resist the urge to call out to him. To apologize to him, to say that I am truly sorry for his brother and for him. That either way, one of them would be in the Hunger Games. It's a bad thought, but I'm glad it was the older one. He might have a chance.

He has to have a chance.

For his brother… for his family.

"Now, for the females!" The escort is already at the female's bowl, a card in her hand, and she begins to open it even more slowly. My eyes are still locked on Rollo, the sight of him glancing down at his brother all the way in the back making me feel sick to my stomach.

No… he can't go into the Games. He doesn't deserve this.

"Do we have a Maureen Lowell?" She calls out, the crowd going completely silent after her name's finished being said.

A girl walks into the aisle, her short hair swaying to the side for a moment. She stands there silently, staring down at the ground until she makes her way to the stage. She walks up the stage, now only looking at Rollo. As I get a closer look, I feel like I have to apologize to her too.

I want to say sorry for her being so nervous. The sweat droplets on her forehead make me upset, her stiffness making me think that she's scared. She's even more scared than she wants us to see.

But, I understand.

I understand how scary it is… but that doesn't mean they deserve it.

They shouldn't be up there.

No child should be… no child should ever have to be up there.

"There we have it, District Eight!" She calls out again, waving her hands with excitement. "Rollo Damario and Maureen Lowell!"

I gulp, my head starting to pound in my skull and my chest becoming even heavier. I can't do this – I never could. I was never fit to be a mentor, and even after fourteen years, I still can't handle it.

I shouldn't be up here…

_No one should._

* * *

**Lomman Rybar  
District Eleven Male, 15 Years Old  
Goodbyes**

* * *

"Lomman…"

Spinning around, I see my mother and my sister, Rylana, standing behind me, the two of them shuffling forward. Their movements are languid, and as they come closer, they get more emotional. My mother's tearing up, while my sister's just standing there, no expression on her face.

Why are they upset?

It's not their fault.

This is my problem; for now, anyway. It'll be their problem soon enough, when I might not come back. I shiver at the thought of the unknown, not knowing whether or not I'll come home. I always hate that feeling… when I don't know what's coming for me.

I don't know anything about the Hunger Games.

What's going to happen to me? I… I don't know.

"Lommna," my mother says again, catching my attention. "Lomman, please."

"Where's dad?" I ask, not really wanting to bring it up. I should've known he wasn't going to come; he never cared enough.

"Busy," Rylana says, her voice raspy. "He couldn't even make it to the good-byes."

"Forget him," my mother replies to the both of us, embracing me in a hug. I hug her back, reaching my hand towards Rylana for her to grab.

This might be the last time I ever see them, and that's what scares me the most. I can die, just like that, and never be talked of again. I'll go down in history with the rest of the District Eleven tributes that die in these Games.

I'll just be another kid that died in the Games.

That's all I'll be.

But, I don't want to. It's not my time to die yet, even if I can't do much about it. I like life for what it is – even if District Eleven can be tough to live in some times – but I make the best of it. I'm not ready to die yet, but who is?

Who is ready to die?

I don't know the answer to that either and I hate the idea of going into the Games even more because of it. I like knowing what's going on, not heading into things blindly. I have no plan and no guidelines for this.

"Quiet," Rylana says, sighing.

It's true, though. It is very quiet, but there's not much to say. A good-bye would only make me feel worse, and a kiss or a hug would just ruin it. I try to keep up my smile, trying not to scare my mother more than she already is. I have to be strong for her; it's the least I could do.

There's a knock on the door, and as the Peacekeeper opens it, I shudder. They can't leave yet… not yet. I still need them; to remember or something. I feel like I don't have any closure with them. That is if this is the last moment I'll see them.

I just hope it isn't.

I have a lot more life to live.

As they leave the room, my mother tries to grab my hand one last time, and I miss it slightly. That's it. That's the last time I might see them and we barely talked. We barely said hello, asked how each other is, and we didn't even say good-bye. The feeling of wanting them to come back swallows me, my head being to ache a little.

Without even turning back around, I see the next visitor come into the room, the goofy smile on his face making me feel a little bit better. It's Hinton, my friend that I've known for ever.

I'm glad he came to see me. I'd rather him come than my father, he always ignored me and would never contribute much to the family. At least Hinton always put a smile on my face, even if he could have got us into trouble at times.

"How bad could being Reaped be?" He asks, and I know that he's planned some joke all along to make me laugh. I make a face at him, waiting for him to continue. "You get to get away from this place."

"I guess," I reply, shrugging, not really believing what he's saying.

"Lighten up," he says to me, pushing my shoulder a little bit. "I bet the Capitol will treat you like royalty. That is, until you go off to your death."

Even though he's joking, it doesn't help. I still smile, though, just at the tone of his voice and how I know that the Peacekeeper is listening in on this.

"That helps," I joke back, rolling my eyes. "You really know how to make someone feel better."

And then another knock comes.

It's the Peacekeeper again.

He opens the door, holding out his arm for Hinton to leave. Hinton stands up, patting me on the shoulder, and as he walks out, I just think back to my family. They're all leaving me.

They're all leaving me to dive right into the unknown on my own.

"You just wait," he says to the Peacekeeper, leaning in closer. "That kid right there will be the next victor, you just wait."

I laugh, but it's quickly silenced, the door shutting behind him. For a moment, I think that my father will be coming to, but I know he won't. He hasn't paid much attention to me my whole life, so why would he now? He probably wants this.

I'm just a burden on the family to him. With me here, he has to work harder and make more money just to spend on me. I'm not even sure why they had two kids in the first place; they always complained about money. Life was never easy, and even though they did try, it was never enough.

Nothing is ever enough in this District.

For anyone, really. Everyone always needs more food or more clothes, never being self-sufficient enough to live on their own. We're always relying on tesserae or help from each other. It's twisted.

The Capitol doesn't have that problem. I was always quiet about my dislike for them, since I was afraid I'd get in trouble, but now, there's nothing to hide. I'm going into the Hunger Games; I have all right to speak my mind.

That doesn't mean I will, but I could if I wanted to.

I bet Hinton would love that. He always made jokes about the Capitol and would always talk bad about it.

Looking out the window, I sigh, seeing the train pull up. I wait for the sound of another knock coming, this one by my escort that will take Copper and I onto the trains. I begin to walk towards the door, knowing that she'll be any minute, even if I don't want her to.

I have no control anymore.

I can't decide what will happen to me from here on out.

No one knows what will happen to me, or anyone, for that matter. Anything can happen in the Hunger Games.

Usually, though, it ends in death. Twenty-four go in, one comes out. And that one could be anyone that was reaped today; it could even be me or Copper. It's a slim chance, but there's still hope.

And that's what I'll fight for. I'll fight with that hope in mind.

I can do it. I don't have a choice, really.

It's either I die in the Games or win them.

And I can't die just yet.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Here's the second (and last) part of the Reaping chapters. Once again, nothing in particular to ask, except for what you thought about the tributes and mentors, who stood out, and any other comments you have.

Another thing, though. This is the last chapter I'll be uploading for a while. The next chapter will be out some time in late February, probably near the beginning of March. I'm going away on Wednesday for about a week and half so there's no time to write or anything.

So, yeah. I'll see you all then.

That personal question, eh? Can't forget about these.

_What would be your first thought if you were reaped?_


	5. Capitol: Part One

w w w. shotinthedarkhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Ceres Milani  
District Two Female, 18 Years Old  
Train Rides: Pt. I**

* * *

"Thank you again, Ceres."

Looking away from the window, I glance at Brutus, who's sitting across from me with a mug in his hand. He's nodding his head, waiting for me to reply, apparently. I nod my head curtly, knowing exactly what he's talking about. It's no problem, really, but he knows that.

I didn't have much of a choice, anyway.

"It's a shame that Aella couldn't volunteer," he continues, shuttering at her name. "Something came up with her mother, and well, she couldn't volunteer. So, the committee had to make a decision. And now, we have you here with us."

"I couldn't have asked for any more," I reply, keeping my voice calm. "Thank you, Brutus. I'll be sure to use this chance wisely."

"There we go!" He exclaims, standing up from the couch. "That's the fighting spirit a victor needs! Ceres Milani – victor of the Sixtieth Hunger Games! Doesn't that sound great, Kace?"

I try not to let it get to my head.

All of this talk of me being the possible victor doesn't mean much to me. Anyone can talk about winning, but whether or not they can actually win is questionable. You have to have the right form and skills in order to win, not just the right words to say. Like Kace, for example, he says he'll win, but he has nothing to prove it with.

We'll just have to wait and see to find out.

It's doubtful, but I can't judge just yet. If I learned one thing from living in District Two, it's that anything is possible.

"Don't get her hopes up," Narissa cuts in, not understanding that my hopes aren't up as it is. I realize what I'm capable of and what can I do, and I most certainly don't need Brutus' words to motivate me.

I just choose not to say any of this.

It's not my place.

"What are you talking about, Narissa?" Brutus booms again, slamming the mug down on the table. "Ceres is what District Two needs. Not the pretty-boy Kace who is probably pampering himself in the mirror right now.

"I'm right here?" Kace says from behind Brutus. Brutus makes a face, not looking back at Kace. "I can pamper you, if you want. You could use some sprucing up."

"Oh, shut it," Brutus snaps, going back to drinking from the mug. "Don't speak unless I give you permission. So, tell me, Ceres, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to represent District Two in the Hunger Games," I answer truthfully, keeping it quick and to the point. He doesn't need much more than that to be satisfied.

"And that is what you will do, yes!" He says, taking a big gulp of the liquid.

Going back to looking out the window, I stare at the landscape as we pass it by, enjoying the scenery before we're in the Capitol. Only in the outskirts of District Two is where you would see any of this; open fields, trees, fences. District Two is very modernized, with stone on every building and masonries everywhere. You never get to see any of this.

We go through a tunnel, and the scenery is cut off, going right to a smack of concrete in front of me. The tunnel is long, and I wait for it to be over, not enjoying this view as much as the other. Inside the tunnel, there's the Capitol emblem, and once I see that, I know that we're almost there.

One thing I always wanted to do was visit the Capitol. Of course, the only way I could have done was through the Hunger Games. And, here I am, about to go into the Hunger Games.

They might be unnecessarily brutal, but it's what has to be done. District Two has always pledged their allegiance and loyalty to the Capitol, and I follow through with no less than that. I respect and admire the Capitol, even if I have my qualms about it at times. They do what is best for the nation, even if some people don't understand it all times.

They just have to see past all the violence and strictness, and then they'll see what the Capitol is doing. They're just protecting the interest and welfare of the people, regardless of their District.

"Quiet, aren't you?" Kace asks, sitting across from me. "Let's chit-chat, shall we?"

"Hello, Kace," I say, not really wanting a conversation, but I might as well. Now would be the time to learn some more about him.

"Is that all you have to say? Oh, come on, Ceres! I'm sure there's more to you than a hello!"

Kace leans his arm on the side of the chair, waiting for me to continue. I just sit there, not even a smirk on my face, watching him. He raises an eyebrow and puckers his lips, making me want to roll my eyes. I remain expressionless, making sure to show that I'm not interested in his shenanigans.

"Lighten up, Ceres. You'll regret not having the time of your life while you're in the Capitol. Once we hit the arena, you can act like this. Just not now."

"Thank you for the concern," I reply, not really intending that to sound sarcastic. "I appreciate that."

Although Kace does have a point, I can't let myself act like him. He's too pompous and extroverted to do well in the Games. He'll make enemies, and at the end of the day, will be betrayed. My judgment of him isn't set in stone yet, but I sure am leaning towards one way; a non-favorable way.

He isn't the worst boy I've ever come across, but he's up there. If he's going to act like this for the rest of the Capitol, I can only imagine what the other Careers will think of him.

He'll probably even try to lead the Careers.

I'm sure Brutus will get a kick out of that.

Looking back at Kace, I see that he's looking down at the table in front of us, playing with some little board-game on it. He's moving a ball around a maze, and I scoff because he's so entertained by just this.

Is this what the competition will be like?

Is this what I signed up for?

* * *

**Amelia Winters  
District Twelve Female, 16 Years Old  
Train Rides: Pt. II**

* * *

"You know, I was about your age when I won my Games, Amelia."

Haymitch is sitting at the end of the table, a few bottles of colorful liquids scattered in front of him. I sit on the other end, and as I glance up from my plate, I can see that he's staring right at me. I nod my head, going back to playing around with my food. I should probably feel grateful right now for having food like this, but it doesn't feel right.

I feel like I shouldn't be eating this. I prefer the home-style cooking of Twelve, anyway. It was more tasteful than this; not that I don't enjoy the colors this food makes when I mush it together, but still.

"You know, we have to communicate in order for this to work. I already tried talking to Kade, and apparently," he pauses, bringing the glass cup up to his mouth. "He isn't very interested in me."

This time, I just nod my head, not bothering to look up. It's not that I don't want to communicate with him; I just have my reserves. He represents the Hunger Games, doesn't he? He's a victor. He's a murderer, too. He killed to save his own life… doesn't that make him as bad as the Capitol?

I'm not sure what I want to happen. Would I rather die or go home alive? I don't know.

"You know, you should really eat. You never know when your last meal could be," he says, and the way he keeps repeating the beginning of each sentence is just grating.

"You know," I mock, finally shooting him a look. "I don't need your help. You know, I came from District Twelve, so I know how to handle myself. You know, I don't need you."

"You know," he retorts, "You do need me. All tributes need their mentor."

"And why is that?" I ask, not buying into anything he's saying. "Why would I need _you_?"

"Because I can keep you alive, and isn't that what you want? Isn't that what everyone wants?"

I go silent now, not wanting to respond to him. Since, I really don't know what I want. It'd make sense for me want to come back home alive, for me to see my family again. For me to go back to the District that has raised me all of these years. Yet, at the same time, I don't want to go home. If that were the case, I'd be a murderer. People would judge me, too, and I might even turn out like Haymitch.

He's just known as a loud-mouthed drunk.

I don't want to be that.

"Amelia," he says, his voice serious this time. He's probably caught on that I don't want to deal with his nonsense. "It's either I annoy you or Kade, and that's the truth. Kade is a mess already and there's no way to get to him."

I scoff, tilting my head to the side as I stare right at him. "Oh, you've seen to have done so much already to try to help him. Communicating always works, doesn't it?"

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "He mumbles to himself and whenever I ask a question, he's miserable. Do you want to ally with that? Do you?"

His voice seems to be getting a little more agitated, and as I listen to him for once, I think about it. Allies aren't something I planned on having – not seriously, anyway. I came up with a few scenarios, but they all the same way; death. Whether me or my allies, it doesn't matter. It all ends the same way.

"Do you?" He asks again, and I stand up from the table, slamming my hands down on the table. He laughs at my gesture, throwing his head back. "There we go! Finally, some emotion from someone!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snarl, having the urge to launch myself at him. He acts as if he knows me, as if he can predict my every move.

He knows nothing about me.

And he has no right to.

"That's what you need to win, Amelia. Emotion. Passion. _Anger_."

"Shut up," I bark, letting the anger in me all out. I've never been able to speak to anyone like this, despite all of my pent up anger. And now, I can say whatever I want. He has no control over me.

He can't say shit to me.

"Keep going, Amelia. This is what I like to see!"

"Do you think you're helping anyone by speaking to them like this? Is this why you haven't brought home a single tribute yet, Haymitch?" I yell, and I'm glad that no one else is in the cart right now. "You just sit back and watch them get killed, and you feel nothing!"

By mentioning the dead tributes, he seems to get a little offended, and he furrows his eyebrows. "Do you think it's my fault, then? That I can't bring anyone home?"

"Yes, I do," I mumble, looking back down at the plate. I feel bad for a moment, knowing that it isn't really his fault. But, it seems like it is. "It is."

Haymitch lets out a muffled chuckle, and as I look up, he's already sitting back down. He's already drinking from the glass again, and I stand there, perplexed by what he had just done. Why is he laughing about this? This isn't funny.

Does he not understand what it means to be a mentor?

"What's so funny, Haymitch?"

"Good," he says, nodding. "Good, good. This is exactly what I wanted."

Plopping back down in my seat, I stare at him, my hands shaking with emotion. Whether it's anger or rage or something else, it doesn't matter.

"I just wanted to get something out of you. You were bland otherwise, and now that you're capable of releasing this emotion, you should use it. You can win the Games with it."

Shutting my eyes, I lean my head on the table, blocking him out completely now. So, this was just some joke to him? Getting me all riled up was just so he can prove something to me? Is this how he treats his tributes?

But, he had a point. I felt angry. I felt mad.

I felt emotion.

And maybe that _can _help me win.

* * *

**Evan Aleces  
District Five Male, 17 Years Old  
Chariot Rides Prep. **

* * *

"Who was the ugliest tribute you've ever had to work with?"

Waiting for a response, I look at the stylist, and she seems to be shocked at my question. I'm just curious is all; no harm in asking a question. Besides, I'm sure they're dead at this point, so.

"The ugliest tribute?" She asks, and I nod my head, and looks around the room, probably thinking of who it was. "Well, there was this one girl with a completely messed up face. One of the ugliest creatures I've ever had to touch."

"What was she like?"

"She was from Three, I believe. She had it all; lop-sided ears, frizzy hair, and oily skin. She was a mess and by the time she had her interviews, there was no hope for her. So, we just made a mockery out of her."

"That's not very nice," I comment, although I do find it funny. "But, now she's dead, right?"

"Exactly! So, it doesn't matter!"

"That's insensitive," I comment again, apparently offending her a little. "She had feelings too."

"You're the one who asked, yes? I'm just being honest."

Nodding my head, she goes back to her clipboard, drawing something I think. She's been at it for a while now, occasionally glancing back at me and taking a few notes down. I tap my finger on the metal table I'm sitting on, trying to distract myself from the utter boredom I'm suffering from.

There is literally nothing to do. I mean, sure, I have my stylist, but she's boring after a while. She's just like the rest of the people from the Capitol; well, I'm not sure what they're like, but if they're anything like her, I feel bad for them.

She's just clueless and rude.

"Who's the best looking tribute you've ever had to work with?" I ask, trying to break the silence. I just need something to do.

"Hm, that's a tough one," she replies, still working with her clipboard. "Probably Triton from Four. He was something else. Or maybe Dakota. Why do you ask?"

"I just wanted to see what way you leaned," I reply, making her scoff. "Boys, apparently."

"That's none of your business, now please, keep quiet. You're distracting me."

"Okay, okay," I say, holding my hands up in defeat. "I'll be quiet."

One thing I do enjoy about the Capitol, I'll admit, is the people. I know I was just complaining about my stylist, but really, I appreciate her as a person. She's funny and gives me some satisfaction from our conversations. Although I did love District Five, the people were just getting repetitive.

In life, you always need change.

And if going into the Hunger Games count as my change, so be it.

I'll deal with what I have.

"Okay!" She says, spinning around on her heels. She holds the clipboard in front of me, and it takes me a while to be able to see what it's supposed to be. "What do you think?"

"What is that? Why would you even think about making that?"

It's supposed to be some type of generator. It's just a hunk of metal that would be around my chest, with different buttons and lights on it. My boots would be even bulkier, with wires going from the heel to the huge thing around my chest. Around the head, there's this circular type headband, with different buttons and lights again. Honestly, what was she thinking?

"Well, it's different, Evan."

"It's ugly, Sheera."

"What do you want me to do about it?" She asks, getting impatient with me.

I roll my eyes, pressing my back against the wall. "Nothing now, you've already wasted enough time. I'll just go with that, but I don't think Limnic will be too happy with that. It'll probably weigh her down and break her."

The thought of Limnic snapping in half from the weight of the costume just makes me smirk. She's one of the skinniest people I have ever seen, which says something since we come from District Five. It's definitely not healthy.

"Okay, so the generator it is," she mumbles, going back to her little table. "Anything else you want to say, Evan? Or else I'm about to go and get ready."

"You are dismissed," I say, waving my hand. She rolls her eyes, shutting the door behind her.

Leaning my head back on the wall now, I stare at the ceiling, tracing the designs on it with my eyes. It swirls around in a circle, going right back in the wall, and then entering the ceiling again at a different place. It's like a maze of some sort, so I use my finger now to trace it, feeling even more bored than before.

Isn't this supposed to be exciting?

I'd figure the Capitol would do more to distract us from where we're going into. The Hunger Games, that's where. The place where twenty-three of us will die, leaving only one left. I've heard it all before now, but it's different once you're actually here.

I don't agree with the Games, no, and there isn't much else to it. I just don't agree with them.

That won't stop me from trying, though. I realize what's at stake here – my life, really. It seems a lot less dramatic when I say it like that, but I know what it means. If I die, I die, and if I win, I go back to District Five.

There are only two paths that I can go down.

And we all know what path would be more preferable.

I just have to win, now.

I can win, right?

* * *

**Peros Nebron  
District Ten Male, 13 Years Old  
Chariot Rides**

* * *

"You can talk to me, Peros."

Keeping quiet, I still sway my legs back and forth, still sitting on the back of the chariot. I don't look up at my stylist, not because I don't want to talk to her, I just want to sit here alone. I just like the sound of everyone talking and the sounds of the horses.

It reminds me of home. The way people talked while doing their jobs with the horses' nay in the background. From where I'm looking, I can see that my stylist has left, leaving me alone on the chariot.

The horse next to me is the one from Eleven, and I look at it and smile. Back home, I could see one of my dogs chasing after it, just playing around with it. My dogs were my favorite part of the farm, and now that I'm not with them, I miss them more than ever.

They would always be there for me.

"Let's go, Peros!" I hear Halley's voice from behind me, and I can see at the front of the chariot, her hand on the horse's head. "It's time to roll!"

Pushing myself up from the chariot, I stand up, brushing off the back of my pants. For my costume, I'm really not sure what they tried to do, but I find it funny. Randomly, they put different prints of animals that come from a barn. On some parts of me is cow skin, and another sheep fur, and another a light pink for pigs. It's a little messy when you look at it, but it reminds me of home even more.

And home is all I can think about.

The wide open spaces, the animals, the people that would always smile at me whenever I walked by. I don't miss the poverty or the run down homes, but that's what made District Ten. District Ten is home and I can't say anything bad about it.

"Come on up, Peros," Halley says, reaching out her hand. I grab it, and as she pulls me up, I smile at her outfit too. "Yeah, it's not the best, but it's better than a cowboy or a cow, right?"

"Yes," I respond, taking my place on the chariot.

In front of us is District Nine, and I haven't been able to meet them yet. I saw the girl wandering around before, just playing with the horses and keeping quiet. Before, I saw the boy getting a little angry with his stylist. I looked away, not wanting to see any of that, but it just made me wonder why.

The Capitol people are nice if you get to talk to them, even if they control the Games.

The large gate all the way in the front opens, the loud cheers and screams coming as a shock. The chariot jerks forward, and they don't waste any time, each one coming out after one another. District One goes out first, and then followed by the rest. The screams are pretty loud once the Careers make their way out, which isn't surprising.

I just wish we got a scream like that.

As we exit the large room we were just in, I brace myself for all the noise, and even that doesn't help. There's so much noise going around everywhere, and I stand there next to Halley, just watching it all. Halley seems to be more into it, with her waving and smiling and all. We make our way down the long road, and I begin to stare at what's in front of us; a large pillar-type structure. At the top is where the President will give his speech.

District One's chariot stops at one spot, followed by District Two and then Three. The chariots form a half-circle around the large structure, and as ours come to a stop, Halley is still turned around. It looks as if she's going to fall forward, right off the chariot. I worry for a moment, but I know that she can handle herself. She won't get hurt.

The President makes his way onto the pillar, and he comes to the edge of the gate, looking down at us. He waves his hand, silencing the whole crowd. Just like that, all of the noise stops, going back to complete silence.

"Welcome, tributes!" He says, getting another loud uproar from the crowd. This time, it takes a while to quiet them down, and all he did was welcome us.

The Capitol people are very outgoing.

"Tributes, we salute your courage and sacrifice," he says, but I don't really understand what he means. "And we wish you a happy Hunger Games!"

Are the Games really happy? I don't think so.

"May the odds be ever in your favor!"

With that, he leaves the pillar, going back into the building behind him. As he leaves, there's uproar from the crowd, and this time, it nearly shakes the chariot. People are screaming, whistling, and shouting. I look around at the tributes again, trying to block out all of the noise.

As I look around, I try to find someone that could be about my age. The boys from Eight, Eleven, and Twelve could possibly be my age, so maybe I'll talk to them.

Devana, my mentor, told me to talk to people. She said that they'll be friendly and want to group up with me for the Games. That way, I can have friends in the arena.

I'd hate to be alone in the arena.

I would like to have someone keep me company.

That would make me feel better.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I'm back?

This is a really random update for me, but hey ho, deal with it. I'll probably get back into writing this story, so that's a good thing. Well, this chapter consisted of the Train Rides and Chariot Rides (wanted to cut back on it a little.)

So, questions, yeah?

_What tributes stood out to you?_

And for a personal question (I missed these.)

_What would you want to dress up as for Chariot Rides? Of course, that comes with what District you'd want to be from._


End file.
